


Madness Follows

by MelfinaLupin



Category: Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Horror, Mystery, Thriller, ghost story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelfinaLupin/pseuds/MelfinaLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Estranged siblings reunite after a decade apart, but madness follows when money is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness Follows

Mabon house was steeped in tradition. Dinner was to be served strictly at 6 o’clock. The servants worked around the tardiness of the second guest and discreetly removed the untouched setting from the table. The elder Dowager Countess disregarded her son’s explanations of the younger sibling’s whereabouts and chose to sip her wine with barely a word of acknowledgement. Disappointment soured her otherwise beautiful face.

Marlene was left to spoon her white soup in silence. She attempted a glance between her employer and the flaxen-haired Earl of Rhode sitting at the far end of the table. Years of amicable friendship between the Ludlows and the Terrills didn’t exactly fill her with confidence. She had nothing witty or engaging floating around in her brain to defuse the dark atmosphere. They had already covered safer topics such as the gloomy weather and the goings on of the British elite that afternoon over tea. She’d assumed the other brother, Mr. Thomas, would have made an appearance by now and carried on a jovial conversation amongst his relatives, but currently there was no sign of the man and dinner continued in an uncomfortable silence. The silver tapped gently against the fine Bavarian china. Conversation was poorly executed while Marlene twisted her napkin in her lap.

“I can’t say why I thought Thomas would be on time,” the Dowager complained with a ruthful smile as the females retired to the drawing room after the long suffered dinner. “After thirty two years of tardiness I ought to come to expect it. Still a mother cannot but hope for a change of character no matter how small.”

“How long has it been, my lady, since you last saw Mr. Thomas?”

“Too long, my dear. Ten years, long before I hired you. He informed me one day that he was going to tour the continent again after the death of my beloved Lord Rhode, and the next thing I know letters from Africa and then Australia of all places were being delivered in the post,” she said as Marlene led her towards a chair before the fire. If her son’s heedless travels had caused her any heartache, it had long been forgotten and replaced with a sense of amusement.  “I often wonder why he thinks so poorly of his homeland.”

With the Dowager’s foul mood gone, Marlene felt it safe enough to smile at her mistress. “I’m sure it’s not that, ma’am. Exploration’s a fine pursuit.”

“Oh, I ought to know better than to seek comfort from you, my girl.” The Dowager tapped her cheek gently. “I’ll never understand adventurers. I’m certain they are only happy in the most uncultivated of places.”

Autumn came early at Mabon. Fortunately the maids knew exactly when to light to fire in the drawing room to combat the chilly evening draughts. The heavy crimson drapery had been pulled across the windows during supper. They damped the sounds of an unexpected storm and caused shadows to dither in the corners of the paneled room, too numerous and too dark to be quelled. A liveried footman provided tea and wine while Marlene loitered in the corner by the record player. Eventually Schubert wafted from the large brass pavilion, filling the chamber. Jazz would never be played in Mabon as long as the Dowager was alive.

Rhode was able to persuade his mother to enjoy a game of cards when he joined them. Marlene took the opportunity to lay claim to the journal she had stashed underneath a leather chair earlier that day in hopes of devouring the contents while the Dowager was otherwise preoccupied.One chapter was finished before a chilly voice disturbed Marlene’s concentration. She looked up, a pair of clear grey eyes squinting in the dim electric lights, and noticed for the first time the Earl studying her from across the room. Marlene colored hotly. Had he been talking for her for long? ****

“P-pardon, sir?”

“I asked what you were reading over there in the corner,” he spoke around the cigar held between his lips, “but you were thoroughly engaged.”

“I-it’s a journal, sir.” She closed it promptly as if she had been caught snooping.

“Is it really, Miss Terrill?” There was crooked glint in his eyes suddenly. It was no secret that the crème de la crème of fashionable women admired the Earl of Rhode’s patrician good looks. Heavy eyebrows and reedy mouth warned friends and foes alike of his proud nature while a strong nose nodded to his noble lineage. His eyes were as changeable as the sea and right now they burned a steely blue. “I fancied you a Nancy Drew kind of girl or, at least, an Agatha Christie admirer.” He struck a match to light the cigar.  A deep inhalation hollowed his cheeks but his blue eyes never wavered from Marlene, as if considering her wilted curls and cotton dress with disdain. For the first time this evening she felt humiliated that she had no pearls to compliment her gown or a fox stole to decorate her shoulders like his mother had. “Isn’t that what all the young ladies are reading now days?”

Her heart skipped in her chest. She had never been groomed for a tête-a-tête with an Earl, and she stared at him like a deer stares at a hunter. “T-they are fine authoress, my lord, b-but I don’t think they ought to be compared to Alan W. Shorter.”

An eyebrow arched. “Is that so? And what sort of writing, pray tell, does this Mr. Shorter dabble in that captivates you so, Miss Terrill? Mystery, romance, or a bit of both?”

She baulked at the thought of answering him, and sought the Dowager’s help only she was shuffling the cards and paying them no heed. “Ancient Egyptian history, sir,” she stammered softly and incurred a roar of amusement from the Earl for her honesty. Her eyes fell to the book, suffering her humiliation in silence.

“My Marlene’s an avid reader of history, Phillip,” the dowager pointed out, suddenly putting an end to her son’s interrogation. “She inherited her father’s brains. Don’t you remember that Sir Edward Terrill was a brilliant scholar?”

“I’m afraid not, Mother,” the Earl commented as he examined his polished nails.

“That’s a pity. He did extensive research about the India’s rarest flora and fauna after the War. He’s views about British India were rather controversial, of course, but one cannot help but admire the man’s intellect. And her mother was one of my favorite artists. I have several paintings in my gallery alongside my Monet,” she said with genuine pride. “You ought to take a look at them tomorrow. They are simply invigorating.”

“Speaking of talented ladies, Miss Camilla Tolhurst shall be joining our happy little gathering in a couple of days.”

“Is that so?”

“I told her you wished to spend a holiday with your sons, now that Thomas has finally decided to bless us with his presence, but Camilla’s been so eager to see you and Mabon again. I simply couldn’t deny her. Surly we can make room for her?”

“Of course, Rhode. I’d love to see Miss Tolhurst again. I’ve always found her quite lovely.”

“Then it’s settled.” A smirk pulled at the corner of the Earl’s mouth. He glanced at the quiet slip of a girl in the corner. “I recon you’ll appreciate the company of another lady within the walls of Mabon. While Miss Terrill can spin you pretty tales about the past, Miss Tolhurst’s well versed in far more enlivening conversation.”

“Miss Terrill is my companion while my two sons gallivant about,” the Dowager corrected him in a glacial tone.

Remorse suddenly softened the Earl’s features. “Mother, you know I would visit more after if I had the time.”

“Oh, I’m positive you would, Phillip. Marlene, would you be a dear and fetch me my eyeglasses from my bedroom? I’m afraid I’m having trouble reading the cards in the light.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Marlene was all too eager to flee to safer waters. She rubbed the tears from her eyes with her kerchief in the foyer before Mr. Bray, the footman, could see them and hurried up one of the two grand staircases to retrieve the Dowager’s reading glasses.

Built at the dawn of the eighteenth century as an extravagant hunting lodge for the fourth Earl of Rhode, the Ludlow family refused to modernize the antique interior. Aside from changing out the linens and installing wires for electricity, the large estate was a memorial to a bygone era. Her late husband cherished the dark wainscoting and the coffered ceilings so the Dowager couldn’t bear to change the house despite it being willed to her upon her husband’s death. The old estate reeked of aged leather and tobacco smoke in the cooler months when the fires were perpetually burning. Marlene found it to be a homey and extraordinarily masculine scent, if a little unusual for a gentlewoman’s abode. The only feminine redecorating the Dowager allowed took place in the gallery, painted white to better display her art collection, and Marlene’s bedroom upon the start of her employment.  

“Are you all right, Miss Terrill?”Mr. Bray asked once she returned from her errand. She was grateful for the interlude which allowed her the time to collect herself. She didn’t blame the Earl for his displeasure with her. A woman like the Dowager Countess deserved an equally exquisite lady to be her companion, not some quiet chit who was as noteworthy as a governess. Anyone could see that.

Marlene nodded, but her response cut short by the knocking at the front door. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Bray, I’ll get it.” Mr. Bray protested but she was already pulling the door open. There, swallowed in the yellow ambience of the outside lights, stood a man. The visitor was an impressively tall, bronzed man attired in a soaking linin suit. Marlene had to bend her neck backwards just to look into his face. She was unsure which threw her off more: the cream colored suit appropriate only for sultry summer days in the south, the grin, or the mischievous eyes beneath the brim of his panama hat.

“Good evening, miss. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but I had some automobile troubles outside of Carling,” he explained with easy familiarity. “Tell me, my dear, has my tardiness thrown my mum in a tizzy?”

“Yes,” Marlene blurted out. “I mean no. I mean, she was supper at supper, but I believe that has passed now.”

A smile and another flash of overly white teeth, made all the more bright against his sun kissed skin. “Jolly good! Thomas Ludlow, at your service, miss.” He grabbed her hand, shook it firmly as he would a man’s, and ducked inside, dripping water all over the checkered tile. “English weather’s still shite, I see, but it good to see some things’ve changed for the better,” he commented, eyeing here diminutive figure. “Tell me, darling, how long as my mum employed you to be butler?”


End file.
